Guitar Hero
by Alicia K
Summary: Post "Requiem." Mulder is returned, with a new quirk.


Title: Guitar Hero  
Author: Alicia K.  
Feedback: spartcus1@msn.com  
Spoilers: Requiem  
Rating: PG   
Category: H  
Summary: Mulder's been returned, but with a new . . . uh,   
quirk.  
Distribution: Please ask. I almost always say yes.  
  
I seem to have an adverse reaction to writing angst: These silly   
little stories pop into my head and demand to be written. So   
while I slave over my Angst-in-Progress this summer, you   
may be subjected to more of these weird things. Apologies in   
advance.  
  
Insightful beta by Punk, Dreamshaper, and Epur. Any   
mistakes and poor grammar are mine and mine alone.  
  
XXX  
  
By now, Scully was used to being awakened by ringing   
phones in the middle of the night. After five months of   
searching for Mulder, she now waited for the phone to ring,   
waited for any news, was always ready.  
  
So when the call came, she reacted quickly and snatched up   
the phone on the second ring. "Scully," she said tersely.  
  
"Agent Scully." Skinner's voice was tight, excited. "We   
found him."  
  
XXX  
  
For a woman seven months pregnant, Scully moved with   
unprecedented speed. Through the emergency room doors and   
down the hall, she marched past anyone and everyone who   
wasn't Skinner.  
  
"Agent Scully!" Skinner emerged from a room ahead. As she   
quickened her pace down the hall, she studied her boss's face,   
looking for clues. He was frowning, but not upset; Mulder   
wasn't dead.  
  
"Sir!" Breathless from her speedy entrance, she stopped   
beside him. "Where's Mulder? Is he all right?" A puzzled   
expression crossed her face. Where was that music coming   
from?  
  
"He appears to be physically fine."  
  
"Who brought him here?" And who was that singing?  
  
Skinner frowned and scratched his chin. "He says the only   
thing he remembers is walking to the hospital and checking   
himself in."  
  
"But ... I don't ... why the hell is there music coming from   
his room?"  
  
Scully moved around Skinner to look through the small   
window in the door. There was Mulder, sitting up in the bed,   
apparently healthy, happy, and ...  
  
"Why does Mulder have a guitar?"  
  
Skinner sighed. "He brought it with him. When the admitting   
nurse tried to take it from him, he protested. Violently."  
  
Scully watched as Mulder competently strummed the acoustic   
guitar and sang. He looked happy as a clam.   
  
"That's not Mulder," she announced. "Mulder couldn't play   
the guitar if his life depended on it."  
  
Skinner sighed again. "It's him, Scully. We ran blood tests."  
  
"How long has he *been* here?"  
  
"I wanted to be sure it was him before I called you," he   
explained, looking uncomfortable. "It's him," he repeated   
softly. "He's home."  
  
Scully swallowed past the lump in her throat. "I need to see   
him."  
  
Mulder looked up expectantly when the door opened.   
"Scully!"  
  
She hurried to his side and hugged him awkwardly, the guitar   
and her belly getting in the way. "Mulder," she breathed,   
pressing her lips to his temple. "Mulder, I'm so glad you're   
home."  
  
Mulder pulled out of her embrace to smile at her. "Did you   
see my guitar?"  
  
She frowned. "Where did you get it?"  
  
He strummed a happy chord. "I don't know. I had it when I   
got here. But isn't it cool?"  
  
"Yeah, Mulder, it's great." She reached for it. "Why don't   
you let me ..."  
  
"NO!" he yelled, yanking it out of her reach. While she gaped   
at him in surprise, he finally noticed her condition.  
  
"Scully ..." he breathed, awe in his voice. "Is it ...?"  
  
She smiled at him and sat on the edge of the bed. "Yes,   
Mulder." She took his hand and placed it over their child.   
"Two more months. You got back just in time."  
  
"Oh, Scully, that's ..." Again, he pulled away to turn his   
attention back to the guitar. He strummed a few chords,   
looked at her with dripping adoration, and began to croon:  
  
"You fill up my senses   
Like a night in the forest.  
Like a mountain in springtime  
Like a walk in the rain!"  
  
Eyes wide, Scully stood and backed away slowly.  
  
"Like a storm in the desert  
Like a sleepy blue ocean  
You fill up my senses  
Come fill me again!"  
  
She slammed the door behind her and stared at Skinner in   
horror. "What did they *do* to him?"  
  
XXX  
  
Scully returned to the hospital the next morning to take him   
home. She had decided that Mulder was merely suffering   
from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder and would snap out of it   
soon enough.  
  
Or not soon enough, she amended with a wince as she heard   
his off-key singing from down the hall.  
  
"It's the hammer of justice!   
It's the song of freedom!  
It's a song about love between my brothers and my sisters  
All over this land!"  
  
Scully poked her head around the door frame and saw a room   
full of people. A few applauded, but several had their fingers   
in their ears. One man in a wheelchair bluntly told Mulder   
exactly how much his singing sucked.  
  
Scully intervened when Mulder's face crumpled in   
disappointment. "Okay, folks. Show's over."   
  
"Thank God," someone muttered.  
  
The audience members who had clapped shuffled out of the   
room; as they passed Scully, all three were fiddling with their   
hearing aids.  
  
The critic in the wheelchair stopped at the door. "You know,   
the nurses brought us in here to hear some songs, but after four   
Peter, Paul and Mary songs and an extended version of 'The   
Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald,' I'd say he's a damn good   
argument for euthanasia."  
  
Scully grimaced.   
  
"Hey, Scully," Mulder beamed. "Got any requests?"  
  
She walked over and sat next to him on the bed, her hand on   
his arm. "Mulder, do know what they did to you?"  
  
"No, but if you hum a few bars ..."  
  
Scully counted to ten and reminded herself that she was very   
blessed to have him back at all.  
  
  
XXX  
  
She drove him straight to the Gunmen's. They'd definitely   
want to see him, and besides -- maybe they would be able to   
unearth the source of this musical lunacy.  
  
Hell, she figured, even a deep-seated dream of being Elvis   
would be better than nothing at all.  
  
She rang the buzzer and waited. And waited. She rolled her   
eyes; if SHE looked out her window and saw a pregnant   
woman and a man with a guitar singing 'Blowin' In the   
Wind,' she'd hide, too.  
  
"Guys!" she yelled into the intercom. "Let us in NOW."  
  
When the door opened, she pushed her way inside before   
Langly could speak. "Yes, it's really him; no, I don't know   
what the hell's wrong with him; and yes, he really does sound   
that awful."  
  
As Mulder and the Gunmen had a joyful, tuneful reunion, she   
showed herself to the bathroom. After relieving her poor,   
overworked bladder, she stayed there for a minute, trying to fit   
this latest piece into the crazy puzzle of her life.  
  
When she came out, the Gunmen were standing in the middle   
of the room gawking at Mulder, who was strumming away   
merrily:  
  
"Do -- a deer, a female deer!  
Re -- a drop of golden sun!"  
  
"Do you think he was programmed to do this?" Byers asked.  
  
"Mi -- a name I call myself!  
Fa -- a long long way to run!"  
  
Frohike looked almost amused. "What else've you got,   
Mulder?"  
  
Mulder paused only for a moment before:  
  
"You light up my life!  
You give me hope to carry on!"  
  
Scully had had enough. "Mulder, can it!" Mulder stopped,   
startled by her yelling. She pointed at the Gunmen. "You   
guys -- quit egging him on and help me figure out what the   
hell's wrong with him!"  
  
As he turned away, Langly muttered, "They should have   
programmed him to sing in tune."  
  
XXX  
  
At three, Scully dragged her pregnant self into the office,   
Mulder in tow and under strict instruction to "Play quietly."  
  
While she rifled through her files, looking for anything she   
could that might give her one iota of inspiration, Mulder sat   
behind his desk, softly singing 'Country Roads, Take Me   
Home.'  
  
It might have been soothing, had he not been tone deaf.  
  
Two hours with the Gunmen, and they had not been able to   
deduce anything useful. If she didn't find anything here, she   
was going to stick with the Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder   
theory. If that wasn't it, she was going to smash the guitar   
over his head.  
  
She lowered herself carefully into her chair with a groan and   
pulled a fresh stack of files toward her. She didn't look up   
until the silence hit her like a slap.  
  
"Mulder?" she asked, afraid to look up and find him in a   
catatonic state.  
  
But no, he was alert, scratching at the inside of his right   
elbow. "I lost my lucky pick," he said forlornly.  
  
"We'll get you another one," she sighed. When he continued   
scratching the same spot, a light bulb began to spark to life in   
her tired brain, and she got up.  
  
"It itches," he announced, holding out his arm for her to   
inspect.  
  
Peering down at his elbow, she noted with a gasp that not only   
was the skin red from irritation, but there appeared to be a tiny   
scar just at the crease.  
  
She grabbed his hand. "Come with me," she commanded,   
turning to go before he was even on his feet.  
  
"Where are we going?"  
  
"Upstairs. I have an idea."  
  
He resisted, tugging on her hand as she practically pulled him   
down the hall. "But I want to play you a song!"  
  
"Later," she snapped, punching at the elevator buttons.  
  
They were thankfully alone in the elevator, saving her the   
embarrassment of someone witnessing this serenade.  
  
"Puff, the magic dragon lived by the sea.  
And frolicked in the autumn mist, in a land called Honilee!"  
  
When they reached the lobby, she grabbed his hand from the   
guitar, ignoring his shout of protest. She ignored the stares,   
trying not to think of how they must look: a pregnant agent   
pulling a six-foot tall man carrying a guitar.  
  
"John!" she called, and the security guard turned around.  
  
"Agent Scully? What's going on?"  
  
"I need your scanner," she demanded, holding out her free   
hand.   
  
"Okay, but ..."   
  
She grabbed it from him and flicked it on, running it over   
Mulder's exposed elbow. "Ah-HA!" she exclaimed   
triumphantly when it beeped.   
  
"What is it?" Mulder asked, scratching again.  
  
"Mulder, your days as a troubadour are numbered."  
  
XXX  
  
"So he had a *chip*?" Skinner asked increduously.  
  
She nodded. "Right in his elbow. Different than mine," she   
added, hoping that it meant all the things that should have   
meant. "I took it out myself but brought him in, just in case   
there was an adverse reaction to its removal."  
  
"But he's okay now?"   
  
With a small smile, she turned back to watch Mulder through   
the glass. "He's still sleeping, but yeah, everything seems to   
be fine."   
  
"I wonder what they were trying to do."  
  
She shrugged. "Drive me crazy? Who knows. I'm not even   
going to think about it."  
  
And all was well. Mulder woke up, and they had their reunion   
at his bedside, much like so many others.  
  
He had no recollection of the guitar.  
  
XXX  
  
"Hey, Scully?"  
  
She crawled under the covers and into his open arms. "Yes?"  
  
He bent his head to kiss her slowly. "You are so beautiful."  
  
"You won't say that after I wake you when I get up to pee   
fifty times tonight."  
  
He chuckled. "Doubt it. Turn over."  
  
She did, sighing contentedly as he nuzzled her ear and   
caressed her belly. She had missed this, she had missed him   
so much ...  
  
"Hey, Scully," he whispered, sending a shiver down her spine   
with a brush of his lips.  
  
"Yeah?" she whispered back.  
  
He placed a tiny kiss on her ear and began to sing:  
  
"You're having my baby,  
What a lovely way to say how much you love me ...   
OW!"  
  
"Sorry," she lied.  
  
--END-  
  
  
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spartcus1@msn.com  
  
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http://luperkal.simplenet.com/AliciaK/Enter.html  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



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